


Sweet Venom (please don't paralyze me)

by BirdieMing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdieMing/pseuds/BirdieMing
Summary: It was like being dragged down toward the ocean floor as the current tugged with a harshness that held an intent to destroy; it was everything, and no one else mattered.





	Sweet Venom (please don't paralyze me)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Off to the Races by Lana Del Rey 
> 
> This piece was part of the Sing Me A Rare B: Side OS Competition Spring/Summer 2018. I had a choice of song and I could choose my own pairing. All characters, spells, magical equipment and locations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.
> 
> Beta love: LuceFray27
> 
> **Runner-up: Unhappy Ever After award**

* * *

_Sweet Venom (please don’t paralyze me)_

* * *

**Brooklyn, New York City**

He drove by in a white Mustang with hard eyes and a cigarette hanging from his wicked lips. The girls on the corner didn’t know whether to freeze or primp, to shimmy their hips from side-to-side until their skirts rode up or release another button on their blouse. They recognised him, the British transplant that conquered the city with a few slippery promises. Infamous, powerful, cruel. A reputation.

She stood out; always did. It wasn’t as though she could help it. An English rose face with dark hair and even darker eyes, she carried a storm with her and rained down sparks; unpredictable, a totality in her thinking, all or nothing. It was why everyone loved her or hated her or feared her. Mostly, they revelled in her. _Queen of Coney Island_. A reputation of her own.

“Trix,” he said, grinning at her, teeth gleaming under flickering street lights. A lingering lick at the soft serve ice cream cone in her hand, then she walked with the grace of a panther to the rolled down window and leaned in. “Mr Riddle,” she said softly, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth to steal a drag. Her third stint at Rikers made her ravenous. She had missed him.

He smelled sweet, intoxicating as he took her by the chin and kissed her slowly, deeply, tasting the vanilla and smoke on her tongue. It was like being dragged down toward the ocean floor as the current tugged with a harshness that held an intent to destroy; it was everything, and no one else mattered.

 

***

**The Hamptons**

In the center of a rolling house, they were their own island, royalty on a shared leather couch. He’d fished out a clear baggie full of snow and two rolled up hundred dollar bills from his pocket, looking at her with an invitation.

_Be my starlet, baby?_

_Only if I’ll be in scarlet._

She leant back, tilted her head to the side, and raised a shoulder, presenting him with the hollow of her collarbone, giggling as she felt the powder hit her skin and the gentle scrape of a credit card corner that gathered it into a bump. He made it disappear with a quick practised sniff, licking up the excess that stuck to her skin before nipping at the juncture where neck meets shoulder.

“My turn.” With a lascivious grin, she pushed him to lie on his back, straddling his hips before unbuttoning his shirt to expose his sternum. She took her time forming a neat line, enjoying the way he couldn’t keep his hands from stroking her bare thighs and roaming over her arse. Reciprocating, the line disappeared into her nostril before she licked up the excess and sucked a vicious looking bruise over his heart.

Thirty seconds later, she joined him in ecstasy. They were on top of the world, floating in bright flashes of colour and every vibrating note of music.

 

***

He was watching her from the lounge chairs, bottle of Cristal dangling between his fingers, watch glinting gold in the sun. She knew what a sight she made, an interruption in the bright blue ripples of the swimming pool, clad only in a white bikini, diamond studs, and red nail polish. The heat of his stare stirred up her hunger for a harmless rush.

Her hands slowly snaked toward the bow tied behind her neck, holding his gaze as she tugged at the strings there and pulled the top off in one smooth motion, leaving it to sink in the deep end. Another subtle movement and she slid the bottoms off, holding them up with a smirk before letting them sink as well. She watched his throat bob as he took a relaxed pull from the bottle.

Being under his observation felt different. There was common lust and possession in his gaze, but it was accompanied by admiration. Genuine admiration. He loved her.

Playful tension settled into contentment. Leaning back, she became weightless in the water and allowed herself to be warmed by his attention.

 

***

**Chateau Marmont, Los Angeles**

He was exquisite in a tuxedo, dripping in debonair sophistication even as he lounged in the bathtub, head resting against the seafoam green tiles as he chain-smoked and periodically tapped the ashes into a soap dish. She had raised a questioning brow when he hadn’t poured a glass of scotch upon entering the room.

“Gotta keep a clear head tonight,” was all he said in explanation before he filled his veins with nicotine instead.

She stood in front of the sink, holding a red silk dress that shined lowly in the fluorescent light. Through heavy lids, he watched as the material cascaded over her body. Smoke drifted toward the ceiling.

His gaze shifted up to her reflection in the mirror, where she began to apply her makeup with relaxed ease. Her fingers tapped on the creams delicately before brushes swept powders across her skin with efficiency. A quick coat of mascara, then with precision, her lips were painted with a darkened cherry. Her armor hardened with two spritzes of perfume.

He stubbed out the cigarette and rose up from the bathtub, buttoning his jacket as he went to stand behind her, breathing in familiar notes of cognac and lilac. His hands came to rest on the edge of the sink, caging her in as they studied their reflection.

“What do you think?”

“You’re Heaven.”

 

***

Lucius Malfoy looked so pathetic now, clad only in his silk boxers, like a peacock stripped of its feathers. For all of his postering, even in disgrace, it had only taken three knocks on the door of his penthouse suite to mark him for death.

Trix would treat it like a game, like another thrill. Tom had seen it as a necessary casualty of business, maintaining the iron fist with which he ruled.

“Really, Lucius? Chateau Marmont?” Tom had said calmly in the newly splintered doorway of suite 29. “Ever the showman, I see.”

Lucius was not given the courtesy of a moment to react, to be shocked, instead he immediately found himself pinned to the wall by the throat. “Did you think you could hide from me? That I wouldn’t hear about your deal with the Feds? I have eyes and ears everywhere, Lucius. Did you forget?” With every statement, Tom’s grip tightened dangerously. Lucius’ head was beginning to pound from the lack of oxygen, black dots spotting his vision.

A slender hand came to rest gently on Tom’s back. “Don’t kill him too early, darling. Make him beg for it. _Make him pay_ ,” she whispered, anticipation colouring her tone.

He squeezed harder still, but heeded her advice and shoved him roughly into a chair. Trix went into the bedroom and laughed when she saw that several designer belts had been laid out on the ottoman. She grabbed two of them and a dirty hand towel off the floor.

Lucius soon found himself bound by the wrists and ankles, towel stuffed in his mouth to stifle his gasping breaths. His eyes darted between the two of them, unable to decide on whom to place his fear.

“Hello, Lucius. How's that dear sister of mine?” she asked casually. “Last I heard she had a son. Shame his father’s a spineless, worthless traitor.”

“What did they promise you? Protection? Immunity?” Tom asked mockingly.

He shook his head frantically, making Tom laugh. “He still lies. _He still lies_!”

Unable to contain his rage, he slid on a pair of brass knuckles and drove his fist directly into Lucius’ nose, the bone shattering abruptly with a crunch. He then hauled him up from the chair and threw him to the floor, sending him onto his back, looking very much like a bug that’s been upturned. There was no use in getting blood on the furniture.

Tom became relentless in his assault, aiming for the solar plexus and winding him thoroughly before aiming a sharp kick to the ribs, cracking at least two before doing the same to the other side. He relished in the sensation, but Lucius hadn’t stopped screaming, pleading through pitiful sobs, and the muffled sound grated on their ears. It was time to sever the ties between Lucius Malfoy and the Riddle Organisation. Permanently.

He pulled out a sharp blade from his boot and signalled for Trix to hold him down. She did so with pleasure, enjoying the way Lucius whimpered with every slice and intentional nick, the way his blood slicked his skin. A single word was carved into the length of his pale torso: SNITCH.

The pair stood, surveying their victim. Deeming himself satisfied, Tom began to reach for the gun tucked into his waistband, but Trix stopped him, taking her newly acquired gun out her thigh holster with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. It was the one he had given to her before they’d left their room, silver and engraved with a delicate lace pattern.

She aimed it at Lucius with a grin. Tom’s hand came up to cover hers. With his other hand, he grabbed her by the waist and drew her in for a deep kiss. They squeezed the trigger together.

 

***

Still wearing the tuxedo and silk dress, they could have passed for a married couple just leaving their reception. The convertible they hotwired certainly had marked them as such, distinctive white poster attached to the trunk, but what did it matter? She’d known from the moment she met him that she’d follow him anywhere.

With the top down as they sped down I-15, the warm sun was their canopy. 101.1 FM provided the soundtrack, filling the car with a slightly outdated pop song that made the scene cosy in that vintage way. Their hands were joined over the center console.

She felt dizzy with her full heart and the exhilaration of having him by her side, so unartificial that her soul nearly burned. This was love.

_Everybody’s gone surfin’, surfin’ U.S.A!_

 

***

**Cipriani’s Basement AKA The Rainbow Room, New York City**

The large room was bare, save for the rectangular dining table set in the middle. Tom and Trix were already seated, him at the head and her in the first seat on his right. She wore a voluminous fox fur vest, her eyes inscrutable behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

As each of the inner circle arrived, they kept their faces carefully neutral, not daring to let an eyebrow twitch at the sight of a _girlfriend_ in the most coveted Organisation position. Once the last was seated, the empty twelfth chair became too obvious to ignore, but Tom allowed the implication to seep through the room. Lucius Malfoy had paid for his treachery. Learn from it, or earn the same fate.

“Shall we eat?”

Silence eventually dissolved into cautious chatter, and cautious chatter eventually morphed into talks of upcoming shipments and monthly stats. The whole affair of an organised crime meeting was actually rather dull.

Between bites of filet mignon and sips of wine, Trix took advantage of the way his men seemed to pay her no mind, thinking her just another empty-headed floozy. That was a bold assumption, considering she knew everything about them, had read each of their files, while they knew absolutely nothing of her.

Within twenty minutes, she had compared them to the picture they painted on paper and was able to confirm accuracy for all except the Lestrange brothers. It was them who had toppled the Longbottoms on Tom’s behalf, them who managed to escape prison to return to him. They were Tom’s most entrusted soldiers, completely devoted to the cause. So why were they behaving so curiously now, looking uncomfortable instead of puffed up with pride?

She leant back in her chair, wine glass in hand, and watched through tinted lenses. Matching their recorded description, Rodolphus was stoic and cold, eating with robotic precision, while Rabastan glaringly contrasted his brother, chatty and looking as though he’s had one too many cups of coffee. They certainly put up a convincing front, but something didn’t sit quite right with her.

Then she saw it, the way Rabastan’s eyes had kept drifting over to the empty chair, an almost unconscious movement, judging by the way he seemed to catch himself and shift his gaze elsewhere. After the fifth loop, he started slightly and hissed under his breath. Rodolphus had fixed him with his consistently blank stare and presumably kicked his brother beneath the table.

Odd. Why would the most trusted and loyal soldiers of the Riddle Organisation spare a second glance at the death of a mole?

The two brothers were the first to leave once Tom adjourned the meeting. Trix followed after a full ten seconds, announcing that she needed to visit the powder room. Moving swiftly and tip-toeing to silence her shoes on the marble floor, she stayed close to the wall, halting when she heard furious whispers coming from the elevator alcove.

“ _You heard what they did to him! The papers—_ ”

“ _You need to calm yourself, brother, and_ think! _We are of the majority now, Macnair and Travers be damned. Riddle’s become too reckless, unstable, and the Order is coming for him. We can still save our hides—_ ”

 

***

He wanted to slaughter them all, but she became hysterical and begged him to run away with her instead. They had no allies. The Order was coming.

And as spectacular as he was, he was just one man.

“If you live for nothing else, live for me.”

 

***

**Off the Coast of Monaco**

She took comfort in the sound of his heartbeat, thumping strong and steady beneath her ear. Running hadn’t meant freedom, it was all evasion and temporary safety. But they could still pretend that with the waves rocking their boat, Trix tracing the gold chain around his neck, and him puffing on a cigar, they were sailing toward oasis.

What happened next was a blur of white and red. Speedboats surrounded their slow giant and invaders climbed aboard, malicious thrill lining their faces. Tom’s men had found them, the Lestrange brothers leading the pack.

Hubris had them feeling untouchable, like if they just kept running, they’d never be found. They never stood a chance; the world was small.

Rabastan Lestrange had killed Tom Riddle with a single shot to the head.

She collapsed next to his body and struggled to breathe, unable to stop the way her very soul was ripping apart. Her hands shook as her lips wrapped around the still warm barrel of an engraved silver gun. She looked up toward the sky.

It was so blue.


End file.
